Oatmeal
by emebalia
Summary: John, a sick Dean and a bowl of oatmeal. Dark, warning inside.


**Warning:** mention of underage prostitution, language

* * *

**Oatmeal**

John cruised through the aisles gathering his things in a rush. He didn't want to leave Dean alone not even for the few minutes it took to go for groceries.

Orange juice, soup, tissues and half of the cold medicine this place offered. John piled everything in his cart but stopped when he thought about actual food. Dean needed something solid, something more substantial than juice and microwave soup. Toast or crackers hurt his throat too much, John had figured that out yesterday, jell-o came back up right away same for the smashed banana John had tried in his desperation.

Dean hadn't eaten anything for almost five days now and if John couldn't find something he could keep down he had to take him to a hospital.

"It's just a damn cold." He muttered. It was just a cold not the flu or pneumonia he was sure of that, or at least he hoped, but he guessed the infection Dean had recovered from right before the sniffles had attacked hadn't worked in Dean's favor. Damn chupacabra.

The fact that not a month ago Sam had left for Stanford didn't do Dean any good either, John guessed but that wasn't something he wanted to think about now.

However, the thought of Sam combined with the need to find some food for a sick Dean triggered a memory. One day, Sam had been around ten or eleven, John had come home from a hunt and had found Sam doing the dishes. Scrapping leftover oatmeal out of a bowl.

Neither of his sons ever liked oatmeal but Sam had explained that sometimes it was the only thing Dean would eat if he wasn't feeling well. Thinking about it John had never actually seen Dean eating oatmeal but there had been the occasional package now and then.

"Can't get worse than the banana." John grabbed a package.

Not five minutes later he was back at their motel. The smell of sweat and sickness greeted him along with the congested snoring from Dean who didn't even stir.

Quietly John but the bags on the counter and went over to check Dean's temperature. Still too high for his liking but not live threatening high anymore.

John brushed the sweaty bangs out of Dean's forehead. Over the last few days Dean had been in and out of it, never really there. Most of the time he had mistaken John for Sam and the few times he recognized his father he had asked for Sam and John didn't have the heart to tell him that Sam was gone.

Telling Dean Sam was at school wasn't that of a good idea either, he had figured out. Somehow Dean seemed to be mentally stuck in his teenage years because as soon as he had heard _school_ he had tried to get out of bed to prepare Sam's lunch. Not that he was strong enough to pull that stunt in his condition but he was trying.

An hour later John woke Dean for his dose of medicine and at least half a bottle of orange juice. Dean was too close to dehydration anyway. Dean's fingers trembled so badly and his grip around the glass was so weak Dean needed John's help to sip from it but he managed to drink a bit of the juice.

John had prepared a bowl of oatmeal as well. With lots of sugar.

"Hey, let's try something more solid."

Dean's eyes were closed but when John pushed the spoon gently against his lips he opened his mouth. He chewed slowly and then swallowed and didn't wince in pain from his sore throat. If it stayed down John would call it a victory. He'd know any minute now.

"That's good, isn't it?" He got another spoonful into Dean's mouth. He doubted Dean actually recognized the taste but as long as he got some much needed calories into his son John couldn't care less.

With a mouthful of orange juice Dean washed the oatmeal down before John tried to feed him the third spoon. But this time Dean pressed his lips together, a frown on his face.

"Been out last night?" He slurred, however, by now John was fluent in sick Dean.

"Got some groceries." So Dean had noticed his absence. Damn, he'd hoped Dean would have slept through that.

"Haven't been out in years." Dean mumbled into his pillow. "Have I been out?" The last part was surprisingly clear but when his eyes flickered over John there was no recognition in them.

"You're sick." John put the bowl aside and got the omnipresent facecloth. Wiping his face with cold water had helped Dean somewhat.

"Sammy, isn't dad home yet?" Dean asked the empty room without even acknowledging John's presence. "I'd to go out? Sammy?"

"I'm here." John gently turned his son's head so that Dean had to look at him. He had still some oatmeal in the stubble he had sported over the last days. "It's okay, I'm here."

He could only guess that Dean was reliving some time way back when John had left his kids alone for days. Okay, weeks sometimes. But Dean had always taken good care of them both. Maybe he remembered some party he had been to and was now thinking this was a hangover from hell.

John chuckled at that thought.

"Sam, you did the laundry? Can't let dad find out." Dean suddenly shot up in his bed looking wildly around before he collapsed bonelessly back into the pillow. "Hate the smell of them." The last part was mumbled again and seconds later Dean was fast asleep.

After checking his temperature John sat back in his chair. He knew he had missed a big part of his son's childhood and he wondered what secret Dean was referring to. Booze or maybe a girl?

When John had come around to give Dean the Talk it had turned out that his oldest had been active in this field for quite a while and had covered the basics with Sam as well. John had felt a little bit bad that day but in the end he was relieved to have dodged the sex talk with his sons.

With nothing else to do than to watch Dean sleep John made himself comfortable at the couch and turned the TV on in a low tune.

But he wasn't paying attention to the show he was watching.

_I had to go out?_ That was what Dean had said. Something about going out. And it didn't sound like a party he had enjoyed.

John dozed off for a while, he hadn't slept that much the last few days, and woke hours later from some rustling from the bed. In a heartbeat he was at Dean's side.

"Bathroom." Dean croaked and John helped him the short distance to the bathroom. Thank God, Dean could take care of business alone because that would be just awkward.

After he had Dean tucked in John got the juice again and more of the oatmeal. Dean could swallow it and it stayed down so for the moment it was John's favorite food.

Completely exhausted from the bathroom trip Dean couldn't eat by himself. John didn't even try instead he took the spoon again and pushed it gently against Dean's lips. Reluctantly Dean accepted it but for a second John thought he would spit it out.

"Sam, oatmeal?" Dean asked between two spoons. "You only make me oatmeal when I was out. Can't remember going out."

Already half asleep Dean lay there with closed eyes still mumbling about going out. Over and over again.

John put the bowl away and considered his options for a second. Dean was in no condition to actually know what he was saying but it seemed important to him. And to be honest, John was curious.

"Dean, when you go out, where do you go?" John hold his breath sure that Dean was already asleep but to his surprise he answered.

"Got money." Dean shifted uncomfortable and curled in to himself. "Know you don't like it, Sammy. Had to."

"You hustled pool?" Sam had never been a fan of their way to earn money. However, pool was easy cash and credit card scams got them a roof over their heads.

Dean made a noise which could have been a laugh. Not a happy one, though.

"Wish I was old enough for that." He shifted once more and a second later all John heard from him was that congested snoring. With a sigh he got up to do the dishes and get rid of the used tissues. Dean seemed to be on the mend at least, not quite here but he sounded much better than the other day.

A little ping of guild, okay make that a big one, pulled at John's conscience. He knew money had become tight once in a while when a hunt had kept him longer from his boys than expected. On occasion Dean had asked for more money but now it looked like that hadn't been enough. John couldn't actually remember if he gave Dean the requested money or if had just told him too stop wasting the money he already had.

"How did you get money?" John asked but Dean only answered with a bubbled snore. Whatever this was that came up from Dean's memory had happened in his teenage years. Dean had been seventeen or eighteen, John couldn't actually remember, when he had started to hustle pool and play poker for money. Before that, John had no clue.

"Did you steal it?" Once or twice Dean had been caught stealing but most of the time he was too good to be caught. John couldn't really picture Dean as a teen who mowed the lawn or helped old ladies with their groceries. And other jobs were hard to come by at such a young age.

So stealing, that was it. Dean stole money. John nodded satisfied but there was something gnawing in the back of his mind. There was one more way for quick cash. A way for which you have to go out for.

John shook his head laughing at himself, that was ridiculous.

Sure it's ridiculous, the small voice in his head continued. But if he stole the money what was that with Sam and the laundry? What's that smell he hates?

John silenced that little voice with a good dose of whiskey. Dean hadn't done that. Or had he?

He wished he could ask Sam. At least from him he would get an answer. A yelled one loaded with hate and lots of accusations but he would get his answer. But Sam was gone. For good. Which was another one of his mistakes, one of the biggest.

After a good night's sleep they both felt better. Dean was more or less with him, fighting a low fever and a running nose.

"Did you feed me oatmeal?" Dean asked from behind a tissue. He had almost no voice and his nose was all red and chipped but they were in the normal cold area by now. "Hate that stuff."

"You used to eat it on occasion." John reminded him and offered the wastebasket for the used tissue. He had to take it out but he was okay with tissues. He was glad they were over the throwing up part, though.

"Yeah, if it was the only thing left." Dean answered with his voice toppling over.

That was lie, John realized. He may never had seen Dean actually eating oatmeal but he had noticed the box among other things in the cupboard from time to time. And he had spent a lot of time thinking about that damn oatmeal since yesterday. There had never been only oatmeal in the cupboard, hell, most of the time the package had been hidden behind other cans and boxes of food.

However, Dean was still sick and another trip to the bathroom had sucked the energy completely out of him so John didn't push it for once.

"Here." He got the medicine. "Let's get you dozed up and then you'll sleep it off. You'll be fine in no time."

John got him a healthy dose of the cold meds. And if he poured his son a little more than the recommended dose Dean didn't notice. More is better, right? They always tend to make Dean loopy.

A few minutes later Dean lay drowsily in his bed.

"Dean." John said in a low voice not sure if he actually wanted to do this. Dean wasn't in his right mind drugged like this and it was wrong to take advantage of it. On the other hand John needed to know. Over night a really unpleasant thought had sunk its teeth into his mind and he needed to get rid of it. He needed to know that he was imagining things here. Dean had never done that.

"Hmm." Dean hummed which ended in a light cough.

"When did you use to eat oatmeal?" John decided to take this route instead of directly asking his son if he had sold his body as a teen. There he'd thought it. And it was so wrong, just thinking of that possibility flipped his stomach.

"When I'd been out." Came the mumbled answer.

"Where did you go?" John leaned in. He didn't want to miss a word. No way he would ask this questions a second time. And he really hoped Dean wouldn't remember any of this afterward.

"You know the places, Sammy." Dean frowned and turned from John.

Back to that, John sighed.

"You came back with money and I made you oatmeal." John prompted just rolling with it.

Now Dean chuckled softly. "Still with the energy breakfast, Sammy?"

An hour later John had the whole story coaxed out of Dean. He was a hunter, it was his job to get the information people didn't want to tell. And Dean never could stand against a direct order.

The package of oatmeal went out of the door in a high arc. John would have shut it but they stayed at a motel and the last thing he wanted to deal with right now was the police.

Dean was peacefully asleep. How he was able to sleep at all, John had no idea. John would never sleep again.

He took a gulp of whiskey right out of the bottle. It burned down his throat and he took the next gulp. He'd need more than half the bottle he had left but he couldn't leave Dean. That had been his mistake in the first place.

John had left his sons alone for so long they had run out of money. Not once or twice. Actually often enough for his sons to have an emergency plan at hand, just in case.

First Dean would allot the food and money to stretch it for a few more days. Sometimes starting the second John was out of the door.

At some point they were down to a stolen candy bar a day and maybe the rent was due and John wasn't back yet.

Then Dean would put on some clothes he had basically grown out, T-Shirt and tight jeans, stuffed some condoms in his pockets and went out.

Hours later he would come back with a roll of cash.

John couldn't bring himself to ask what Dean had actually done for the money. Did he let the men fuck him? John wanted the answer to be _no_ but deep down he knew better. Dean had needed as much money as he possibly could get.

While Dean would hit the shower, Sam would take care of the laundry. To get rid of the smell. The smell of men and sex and cum.

How old had Dean been the first time he had gone out, John wondered and didn't want an answer to that question either. He doubted Sam had known from the beginning but he had always been a smart kid. Shouldn't have taken him long to figure out where all of a sudden the money came from. John tried to remember when he had noticed the first package of oatmeal in the cupboard but he couldn't pin it down.

After Dean's shower John's sons slept in one bed, holding on to each other.

Then, in the morning, Sam would go out to buy the much needed food. Bread, milk, peanut butter to cover the basics and of course the oatmeal. With lots of sugar. That would be Dean's breakfast. To get some calories into him. To get rid of the taste in his mouth.

Dean already hated the oatmeal and he didn't want to connect any other food with "going out".

John threw the empty whiskey bottle at the wall. Pieces of glass shattered down and Dean raised for a moment looking for a threat but fell back into his pillow a second later.

"I'll be back in a minute." John grabbed his coat and fled out of the room.

Outside John stood for a moment not sure if he really wanted to leave his son alone in the motel room but he needed more alcohol. A lot more.

Dean had sold himself because he had needed money and he had been too young to hustle pool.

Dean had sold himself because John had left his sons with not enough money.

Dean had sold himself because John's sons had been starving.

Dean had sold himself because John hadn't been there.

Dean had sold himself.

John went to search for the next liquor store.

The next thing he remembered was kneeling in front of the toilet.

"Jezz, dad." Dean said next to him holding him up so that John wouldn't fall face first in the toilet. "I really hope I haven't passed my cold on to you. Done?"

John managed a nod and Dean flushed the toilet before he offered him a glass of water.

"But I think you did a pretty good job disinfecting yourself on the inside." Dean howled him to his feet and manhandled him to his bed.

"'M sorry." John mumbled clenching to Dean's forearms. He couldn't look his son in the eye. Why did Dean even care about him?

"Bet you are." Dean pushed him over and then took off his boots. "Next time think of that before you drain a liquor store. I know I'm no fun if I'm sick but this is a bit drastic, isn't it?"

"I am a bad father." John concentrated on every word. This was important. He had to tell Dean … had to tell him … he wasn't quite sure what he wanted to tell him but it was important.

"C'mon, dad. Sleep it off."

The next time John woke up he felt like shit. Like the shit he was. He squinted into the bright light of the sun shining through the window to find Dean in front of the TV. He looked much better. Still surrounded by used tissues but he was up and about. Apparently had a shower and a shave as well.

John must have made some kind of noise because Dean turned his head and grinned at him.

"How are you feeling?" He asked with way too much glee in his voice. No tension, no hesitation.

_He doesn't remember,_ John realized. Dean didn't seem to remember his drugged up confession, probably not even the oatmeal, so he didn't know that John knew.

"Been better." John rolled out of bed. Then he set at the edge and didn't know what to do. How do you act in a situation like this? What do you do after a revelation like that?

"Dean, I'm sorry."

"For what?" Dean frowned at him.

"I should have been there for you and Sam when you were younger."

Confusion flashed over Dean's face.

"You had work to do." Dean shrugged. "Don't worry, I had everything covered. It's my job to take care of Sammy." He smiled for a second before his face darkened and he quickly turned back to the TV. Because Sammy wasn't there anymore. That was what bothered his oldest. Not the fact that he used to "go out" to get them by.

In that second John realized there was no way to make Dean understand. To make him understand that it had been John's fault, that Dean never should have been that desperate, that no kid should have to do what he had done to get himself and his brother fed.

"I'll take a shower." John stood up and hurried to the bathroom. He turned on the water and stepped under the cold spray without bothering to get his clothes off. Back against the cold tiles he sank down, knees drawn to his chest.

The running water covered up his crying. "Mary, what have I done?"


End file.
